Pleasantly Underwhelmed
by XxRedVinesxXX
Summary: Luke reflects during a morning in bed with a sleeping Lorelai.


She laid next to him in his bed, still in a deep sleep. He supposed talking non-stop for 35 years could do that to a person. She faced him, curled in on herself. It was the most vulnerable he'd seen her since she'd cried about the stress of the Dragonfly a few weeks ago, and he felt compelled to pull her a little closer to him. He rested his cheek against the top of her head, on her soft, dark hair, that looked beautiful even now. She smelled like clean laundry and perfume. He'd always wondered what this would be like, laying in bed with Lorelai Gilmore, and now that it was here, he was pleasantly underwhelmed.

He didn't like to think of himself as a romantic. The idea of "soul mates" had made him uncomfortable for as long as he could remember, and his track record with women wasn't exactly anything to be proud of. Still, those cheesy tapes he'd listened to in an act of desperation had brought him to Lorelai, and he'd listen to them a thousand times over if it meant he could keep holding her like this. It all felt right, as corny as it sounded, and it made him comfortable. It was like she was built to fit in his arms, like Christopher, and Max, and that goddamned Jason were idiots for ever giving up someone so perfect. In truth, he was in awe of just how perfect she was.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but she'd always sort of scared him. Not the parts of her that scared most people, like her general intensity, or her inability to let things go, or her seriously concerning coffee addiction (okay, maybe that did scare him a little), but the parts she didn't talk about. Everyone who knew Lorelai knew her deep resentment for her upbringing, and how far she'd come from it. He admired her ambition for completely recreating her life, and her phenomenal job raising Rory all by herself, but he was terrified that no matter what she did, she'd always have the "rich kid" mindset buried somewhere inside her, underneath all the pop culture references he was still struggling to grasp how she'd memorized. It's not like she was obnoxious, well, no more obnoxious than she usually was, but sometimes he'd catch the tiniest scrunch of her nose at something he served in the diner, or the faintest eye roll at his usual attire of jeans, flannels, and T-Shirts. He knew, of course, it was probably in his head, and it definitely didn't stop him from putting her in her place when she did things like go behind the counter after he'd told her a billion times customers weren't allowed back there, or when she used her damn cell phone despite the very explicit sign that hung behind the aforementioned counter, but when he allowed himself to entertain the idea of pursuing a romantic relationship with The Woman of a Million Words, it gave him just a touch of anxiety. But to be here, like this, so raw and honest, it all felt so genuine. She was comfortable. She wasn't judgmental, she wasn't picky, she just _was_, and she was his.

The sun streamed in through the bedroom window, illuminating their intertwined figures in a vivid, yellow-orange glow that reminded him of the egg-yolks he saw every morning at work. God, was he glad he closed the diner for breakfast that day. Lorelai groaned, burying her face deeper into his side, "Too bright...turn it off…"

He chuckled, folding his free arm to rest his hand behind his head, "Turn what off, the sun?"

She groaned again, this time opting for a nod instead of an actual verbal response. Her body was warm against his, and though he hated himself for having such cheesy thoughts, he would've given anything to live in the moment forever.

"My oven mitts are downstairs, you'll have to remind me next time you want me to interact with the giant flaming ball of gas in the sky," He joked.

Lorelai flopped onto her back, opening her bright blue eyes to glare furiously at the ceiling, "You're not very funny when I'm undercaffinated, y'know," She huffed, crossing her arms. The back of her head still rested in between his arm and chest, and he pressed a kiss to the top of it.

"I'll tell my writers to give me better material," He couldn't believe how easy it all was. Their dynamic was exactly the same, he just got to kiss her when he wanted her to shut up. It was a dream come true. "I take it you're ready for coffee?"

"What on _Earth _would give you that impression?" She shifted onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow so that she was just above his face, "Is it the timer on my forehead that goes off if I don't have at least a cup and a half within 15 minutes of waking up? I've been meaning to look into customized alarms...what do you think of 'Hey-Ya'?"

He shook his head, unable to hide his exasperated, yet slightly amused smirk, "Not even 'Jenny From The Block', huh?"

She gasped, "You listen to _J-Lo!?_ Lucas Millicent Danes, I don't think I've ever been more attracted to you than I am at this very moment!"

"I don't—I mean—not...on the regular, I just _happened _to catch her on the radio the other day," He grumbled, aware of and slightly embarrassed by the faint blush he knew was tainting his cheeks, "And that is _not _my middle name."

"Two sugars, please, Gigli," Lorelai teased, her lips curved into the grin she always wore when she pestered him. She dropped from her position above him and her head fell onto the pillow, just below his face. He could feel her breath on his neck as she pressed a few soft kisses onto his jawline. "Also, have you ever heard of shaving? It's like barbed wire down here,"

"You're annoying, anybody ever tell you that?" He murmured, closing his eyes and pulling her close again.

"Mmm, no, actually, never heard that before," She continued kissing him, moving up from his jaw to his earlobe, "Maybe somebody should."

"Hey, Lorelai?"

"Hmm?"

"You're annoying."


End file.
